Unification
by KatyaX
Summary: After the War, Katniss is asked to return to the Capitol to help promote "Unification," a movement by the new Capitol to do away with the designation of "district" and make Panem whole again. After much reflection with Haymitch, Katniss realizes Unification is much harder to achieve than the Capitol would like to believe.
1. Chapter 1

Rating: MA: S, L

Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim rights to the Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, the characters or the concepts therein. This is a work of fanfiction and it has not been produced for profit or gain. This story is for entertainment only. And to be honest, it's not all that entertaining. Read at your own risk.

Summary: After the War, Katniss and Peeta are asked to return to the Capitol to help promote "Unification," a movement by the new Capitol to do away with the designation of "district" and make Panem whole again. After much reflection with Haymitch, Katniss realizes Unification is much harder to achieve than the Capitol would like to believe.

Unification

by katya_x

Chapter I

Counsel

It's cold for spring. I can see my breath as I climb the steps to Haymitch's house. I knock quickly then bury my fingers in my armpits. We only live next door to one another, but in the few seconds it's taken to walk over here the warmth has been sucked from me. It's going to rain, I guess, or maybe even snow again. Either way, I wish he'd answer his damn door. He knows it must be me. No one else comes to visit him except Greasy Sae delivering him breakfast or dinner. It's well after dinner time and far too early for breakfast.

"Haymitch!" I knock again. All this politeness is only formality on my end. He and I are both used to the other barging into one another's house whether matters are important or not. That being said, this is important and I need him right now. His lights are still on. I'm sidestepping formality.

Haymitch's house is cleaner and less disgusting than it used to be, thanks to Sae and her granddaughter. I don't have to wade through two feet of garbage anymore or check under upturned furniture to search for his unconscious body. "Haymitch!" I holler again. "I need to talk to you!" Not a sound on the ground floor. He might have actually fallen asleep drunkenly in his own bed upstairs for once.

All the houses in Victors' Village are laid out the same inside so it's a familiar trip through the living room up the stairs to the bedrooms. His is the first on the left. All the others sit empty, or at least full of dust. I knock, but there's still no answer, not even the ragged drunken breathing I'm so used to. I push the door open slowly so I don't startle him. Haymitch sleeps with a knife, drunk or not. The last thing I need tonight is to get stabbed.

But he's not here. The bed is still made from when Greasy Sae or her granddaughter came in this morning. Or some morning. Haymitch doesn't always make it to bed when he drinks. The room is empty. It's only inhabitant is a tarnished silver frame with an oval photo of a young woman, done up Capitol style, in a fashion a few years old. What a strange thing for Haymitch to have. He despises the Capitol. Who could he possiblhy know there who would warrant a photo?

"Any reason you're in my bedroom, sweetheart?"

I jump a mile in the air and have to repress the instinct to reach for arrows I don't have. "I'm sorry! Sorry..." My heart starts beating again and to my horror I realize that the picture frame is in my hand. "Dammit!" I scramble to replace it in its spot in the dust. Apologizing again, I wait for him to lay into me, but the curses, the shouting, never come. It seems that Haymitch isn't as drunk as usual for this time of night.

We stand there for an awkward few moments and he finally shoos me from the room with a sigh accompanied by an eye roll. "Get the hell outta here, kid."

"Sorry," I say again, smalley. I hurry past him, down to the kitchen to wait. The bedroom door closes and a few seconds later. Haymitch's shadow precedes him down the stairs. When he finally appears, he looks at me pretty neutrally. I keep waiting for him to yell at me already.

In the kitchen, he comes straight at me, and I back myself against the counter, waiting for a bark or a growl or something Haymitch-like. But he gets very close and says plainly, "I hope you have a good reason for being in my bedroom, sweetheart." From behind me he plucks a small bottle of alcohol off the counter, yanks the cork out with his teeth and spits in halfway across the room. Leaning against the other counter opposite from me he takes a deep drink.

"I was looking for you. I needed to talk to you."

"And naturally you started in my bedroom."

"You didn't answer the door."

"I was out."

"You're never out," I argue.

"I went for some fresh air."

"You hate fresh air."

"Well, I've been looking for a new hobby. Why were you in my room?"

"I told you, I needed to talk to you. I was looking for you. And for your information, I didn't start there. I looked everywhere else first. I was worried you might have passed out again."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." But he belies his annoyance by taking yet another deep swig of his bottle.

I rub my forehead. This back and forth coupled with the events of the day are giving me a headache. "Okay. I'm gonna go. Goodnight, Haymitch."

I move to go but he catches my arm as I pass and pulls me back. "Uh-uh. What's so important you're over here hunting me down at midnight? Whooooo… You look ticked."

Flustered, I shake free and readjust my clothes where he pulled at them. "It was nothing. I just came to tell you I'm leaving tomorrow morning. For the Capitol." I turn to leave again, realizing this will only bait him. I feel his eyes on me as I head for the front door.

"Get your ass back here, Katniss." Something in his voice is so different than ever before. I can't name it, but I can feel it. It makes my chest tighten.

So I turn on the spot to face him. "What?"

"What? The Capitol? You break in at midnight to tell me you're going back to the place you've been exiled from, and it's no big deal?"

"I didn't say it was no big deal. And I didn't break in!"

"Were you actually going to tell me what's happening, or is this all I get?"

"I came here to tell you, didn't I? That's why I'm here, why I was looking for you." I keep waiting for Haymitch to be mad- I mean really mad. Not just whatever he is right now.

He takes his bottle and moves to the living room. Haymitch is the kind of man who will swing his legs over the back of a couch and plop down on it like a sack of grain. But tonight he walks thoughtfully, sits down quietly, starts to put the bottle on the table in front of him, then thinks better of it and takes another drink.

Suddenly he's whipping the bottle across the room so quickly that my scream and jump is almost an afterthought. It explodes into a shower of glass and liquor against a sideboard table. There. Now he's mad.

"Dammit, Haymitch."'

"Damn you, Katniss!" He's standing now, shaking in front of me, fists clenched and a face so hard my father's pickaxe couldn't crack it. "How many times does the Capitol have to spit you out before you stop running back into it!?"

"Plutarch asked me to come. Paylor approved it," I say steadily.

"They asked you to come? What astoundingly brilliant scheme are they trying to make you a part of now?" When I don't answer, he cocks his head and glares. "They sure didn't invite you for tea, kid."

"They asked me... to help push Unification."

Haymitch's whole body twists as he groans, buries his face in his hands and falls sideways on to the sofa. He curses behind his hands. "I should have seen this coming," he laments. "Why didn't I pull out the wires on your phone!?" A few more curses and he finally kicks at the coffee table, displacing it about two feet.

"Haymitch, I thought about it. It could help people. This is the next logical step since the war ended. It's integral to successfully rebuilding Panem."

"Really? You're sure you understand what you just said? Or are you quoting Heavensbee?"

"Don't insult my intelligence- even if you disagree and think I'm an idiot, don't treat me like one."

"You're not an idiot- which is why I can't believe you'd say yes to them! Hey, you're so damn bent on going, why'd you even come here?"

"I came to ask you if I was doing the right thing!"

"The right thing… Damn, you sure have a broad idea of the right thing…" Haymitch's face finally relaxes, and he looks just as amused and cynical as he ever has. He flops back on to the couch and sighs though a laugh, runs his hands through his unkempt hair and rubs his eyes. "I'm never drunk enough to deal with you, kid."

"Thanks. One minute this is the most dire decision I've ever made, the next it's all a joke."

"It's not a joke! That's the point. You're the one who acts like it's no big deal to walk back into the Capitol. If I didn't laugh, I'd…" He shakes his head as he trails off and looks away. "Bring me another bottle, wouldja, sweetheart?"

I only hesitate a moment. It's just easier to let him drink than talk him out of it. I don't have the time or the energy to save him from himself right now. And to be completely honest, I don't care right this moment. This isn't the hill I want to die on. I want his opinion about my bad decisions. I don't really care to lecture him on his.

"Did they ask the boy to go?"

"Peeta? Of course. They still treat us like a matched set." I rummage around looking for a full bottle.

"Figures. I bet Plutarch would love to have you two bookending Unification. Sit down," he says as I hand him the bottle. "Sit down and be quiet a minute. You've got me turned upside down and sideways right now, all this talk of the Capitol." He easily drinks a quarter of the bottle before he starts again. I bite my tongue and curl up in the battered arm chair that faces the sofa.

"Unification... Do you know why I live here?"

"You're a Victor. They gave you a house, same as me and Peeta."

"No. No, I live here because it's not near anyone else. You think I want a trophy of a house to remind me I killed people, other kids, twenty-five years ago? No, I live here because I can't face the people in town. I haven't been able to since I came home, did my Victory Tour. I go into town, get my supplies, spread my money around out of guilt, and leave. You don't see me in the Square unless it's Reaping Day or Tour Day. I come back here, away from all those people, so I don't have to look them in the eye. I drink. I drink all day so I don't have to look at myself. Because I can't. And the reason for that is because I know I'm not supposed to be happy. I'm not supposed to be proud. I didn't bring pride to my district. Those Careers from One and Two, they go home with fanfare and are showered with praise. But not here. Because here in Twelve, and all the other Districts, they don't prize the abilities that will help you win the Games. Ingenuity, courage, yeah, those are great qualities. But not when you use them to take a life. No one here thinks that's worth celebrating. And the reason for that is that District Twelve remembers what it was like before the Dark Days. Twelve, and Eleven, and probably Eight, Nine and Ten, they all remember, and they tell their children, and their grandchildren, what it used to be like. What it used to be like before they divided us and pitted us against each other."

Haymitch finally pauses and takes a long drink, then hands the bottle to me. I hesitate, but in an effort to remain patient and indulge him so I can get some answers, I reach out and take it. But I hate this stuff. I can barely sip it before I'm coughing at the sharpness that burns my throat.

He laughs at me and shakes his head. "All right, don't waste it," he says, reaching back for the bottle. "My grandfather was very old when I was very young. He survived the Dark Days because he was skilled, like you. He was a hunter. Bow and arrows, and, before they got taken away, rifles. He lived off the land before the land got fenced off. In the beginning, the fences were on all the time, and patrolled. He still made it out. Kept his family, his neighbors, fed, like you. Back then, Peacekeepers weren't called Peacekeepers. They were guards, or police. Members of the Capitol's army. No names to make them sound like they're your friends. Well, before all that, before being locked up behind fences, before being made a prisoner of his own land, before the Districts were reduced to numbers, he was a traveler. He traveled to the Capitol. Before the oceans rose, he walked on the original beaches of Four. And before it was all underground, he saw Thirteen in the sunlight. He saw what Panem looked like before it was Panem, before it was sliced up and fenced off. He saw it when it was called the United States."

"I've never heard that name."

"I know you haven't." Haymitch leans forward and locks my gaze. "My grandfather told me that this nation was once whole. Was once one. It was divided into states, not districts. Individual sovereign states with local governments. They answered to a capitol then too, but their capitol had to answer back. Leaders were elected, not assumed because of family names. And people moved freely, like my grandfather did. They even went to other lands, lands that you and I don't even know the names of. Places across the oceans. And I'm sure nearly no one else does anymore either. Maybe they're written down somewhere, in some library in some rich Capitol citizen's mansion. But not where the children of Twelve can read them."

"I don't understand… Why…" I don't quite know how to ask.

"Why don't they teach you that in school?"

"Well, yeah! How come I've never heard that before? They tell us it was always Panem!" I am genuinely mad, actually hurt, that a piece of my own history has been kept from me. But it doesn't surprise me, really.

"They're not allowed. C'mon, how do you think that would go over with the kids? 'Sorry, all, I know we used to be a nation united, but now we're a patchwork of districts that have to fight to the death with each other.' Yeah, not too well."

"But your grandfather knew. Which meant other people did. Like your parents. And maybe mine."

"Maybe. But when the Capitol says 'no' about something, you know what happens when we ask 'why.' You were brave enough to fight a war against them, but you still made sure you were careful coming and going with your hunting."

"But if it wasn't always like this, then how did it ever get the way it did?"

"That's not the question you should be asking, sweetheart. What you need to ask is, why did no one stop it?"

"It?"

"The Dark Days. The Treaty of Treason. All the things that got us to where we were two years ago, to where we would be today if you hadn't come along. What I mean is, if you had what you've got now, and someone, an individual, the Capitol, tried to take it away, from you, from the ones you love… Wouldn't you fight?"

"I did fight."

"You did, sweetheart," he smiles. "You sure did." Suddenly he changes his tone. "Do you believe Unification is good? That it is good for all the people in all the districts?"

I freeze.

"C'mon, kid, it's pretty straight forward. What part of that don't you understand?"

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Why don't I understand him?

"Listen, Katniss, really listen. When you hear the phrase, 'for the good of the people,' what do you think about?"

I think of Sae's granddaughter and how she'll never have to go through another Reaping Day for the rest of her life, and will never see her children line up to have their finger pricked to catalogue them like inventory. I think of how the old men with black lung who used to come to my mother for poultices just so they could keep breathing now have medicine straight from District Thirteen. And I think of Gale's baby sister Posey who won't ever cry herself to sleep because her stomach is empty. Then I realize how many people are in District Twelve, and then beyond our borders. Every one of them has a story not so different from those of the people I know personally. Sure there are people in One and Two who have had better lives than we have, but they've all been under the thumb of the Capitol too. The only difference is, they had the money and food to cushion their imprisonment.

"I think about how no one should have to suffer anymore now that the Games are over, now that Snow and Coin are out of power. I think… everyone deserves to be free."

Haymitch is quiet for a moment but he doesn't stop looking at me as he stands and comes to my side, crouches down and reaches for my hand. It's a strangely intimate action that I never expected from him. "How do you tell a blind man about a sunset?"

It's quiet for a long time before either of us speaks again. The silence of the room is heavy. I'm consumed with thoughts, but they all swirl around me. Memories of other Tributes' faces, the sad, cold eyes of those we met on the Victory Tour, the people underground in Thirteen. How am I supposed to sell freedom to people who have no concept of what freedom is?

The words come out of my mouth without preamble. "Come with me? Please?" I add hurriedly. I tell myself I didn't come here to ask this, but I don't know if I believe it.

He starts laughing his typical condescending laugh. His sharp liquored breath hits my nose. "Sweetheart… You are outta your mind."

"I can't do this alone."

Haymitch gets up and pats my hair as he walks away. He stumbles as he reaches the staircase.

It's before dawn when I wake on my couch and blink against the darkness. I left immediately after Haymitch turned me down and came home to sleep, though I didn't think my mind would let me. It did, here and there, in patches. But I'm more tired this morning than I was last night. I'm questioning my decision to get involved in promoting Unification more than ever. Haymitch said a lot of things last night that I agreed with – and disagreed with. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't scared to go alone. Even before when I went to my first Games, at least, at the very least, I was with Peeta who was just as scared as I was. Now it's just me. I can't remember the last time I felt this alone.

The train will be here in two hours, and it's a good forty-minute walk to the station, so I get up against my will and start packing. There isn't much I'll need. There will be clothing on the train, Capitol attire, and later costumes, I bet. But who knows how long I'll be gone this time. So I tuck some pictures into the pages of a book, stuff my father's hunting jacket into a bag, then, as an afterthought, put a few pain pills in as well. There're plenty of easily accessible pain medicines in the Capitol. But these are from District 13. These aren't recreational pills; these are serious business. If the stress gets too terrible, or the nightmares too frightening, I can always take one of these and check out for a night. Haymitch might have his Hob liquor, but I would reckon he'd trade a bottle for a handful of these.

There's time to make some coffee and take a few bites of the duck egg casserole Sae left for me. The rain's let up and I might actually have a nice walk into town, even if I am alone and panicking. Maybe I can even stop by the Hob and say goodbye to a few people, Sae, at least.

All the lights are off, and thankfully I don't own enough personal stuff to have to fuss over before I leave. I pull on my boots and open the door.

Haymitch is standing on my porch looking up, a bottle of liquor in hand, a bag in the other, and a faraway look in his eyes as he watches the dark night sky break into day.

We walk in silence through the Village and into the new town. We stop by the Hob so I can say a few quick goodbyes.

When the Capitol burned it out last year, everything inside caught fire instantly fueled by the ancient coal dust that seemed to be in every nook and crack. Livelihoods were burned to ashes in moments. But after people started returning from Thirteen after the war ended, those who remained of the Hob regulars came back and rebuilt it in a few weeks. They set up shop again and I started trading my game as often as my depression would let me out of the house. The new Hob became the center of town and, while Victory Village stood full of empty houses, people rebuilt small homes on top of the old ashes.

When I first saw Twelve after I'd been pulled out of the clock arena, no stone lay upon stone. Everything had been crushed to dust. Now there are about twenty permanent structures around the Hob and give or take fifty lean-tos and shanties. No one will move into Victory Village, either out of tradition or pride. And Peeta, who came back with us, left after two months for District Four, saying he felt cooped up here. So Haymitch and I live alone.

Things aren't nearly like they were before. But there is something comforting in seeing familiar faces gathered here, trading, making things, laughing, cooking.

While Haymitch goes to procure a few bottles of his rotgut from Ripper, I let Sae know she can cut her work back on both our houses to once a week or less if she wants. But I pay her for the next three months in advance just in case. She tries to push it all back into my palm, insisting that it's too much, but I can't leave her financially stranded after she's been paid regularly these last several months. There're still not enough supplies coming in from the Capitol. Besides, there was a good three months where I would have starved if it hadn't been for her.

After about twenty minutes of hitting stall after stall, my bag is full of things I don't need just so I could spread some money around before I leave for several weeks. I meet up with Haymitch back at Greasy Sae's stall where he's surprisingly drinking a coffee and eating a slice of corn bread. "Ready?"

His mouth full, he nods and finishes chewing, washes it down with another swig of coffee. "Thanks, again, Sae." He puts down five more coins than the meal cost and walks away before she can protest.

"What'd you buy?" he asks as we step out into the new sunlight.

"Nothing important. Some sewing things. Socks. Coffee and sugar. A few spices. You?"

"Liquor."

I think the reason can't be too incredibly mad at Haymitch for his drinking is that he never lies about it, never denies it. He's probably more upfront about it than anything else in his life. It's the one part of him he doesn't seem to mind sharing. The bottles clank in his bag as we walk up the stone steps to the arrival platform.

"I forgot to tell you. No one's meeting us. It was just supposed to be me."

"No Effie?" he exclaims. "Well…" he laughs. "That is different. I don't think I've been on this train in the last eight years without her."

"Yeah. It's gonna be really quiet," I realize. But Haymitch laughs hard and I can't help but do the same.

There's a bell sounding a little down the line and the shining white and silver bullet of a train comes rushing towards us. The brakes hit and it slows as it pulls into the station, the doors lining up almost perfectly with where we stand waiting.

I'm struck again as I always am by the effect this train has on me. It's so clean, so shining, so sleek. It's nothing like anything here in Twelve. It is so foreign, this train. Even now after the Capitol has fallen and the war is over, it still represents a distant land. The contrast is undeniable.

The hydraulic brakes hiss, and the door slides open silently. With no Effie or cameras to hurry my aboard, I find that I'm frozen in my tracks. Why is this so much more daunting than the Hunger Games, than the Third Quarter Quell? Why is it so hard now to step forward?

"Change of heart?"

My lips stick together as I try to answer. "No."

"Then move your ass, sweetheart."

I look down, painfully conscious of how I do not in any way compliment this train. I'm in my old Seam clothes. My hunting boots. I scrape an earthy chunk of mud and grass from my boot as I climb into the pristine train. Haymitch's hand rests briefly on the small of my back as he follows me aboard. Even when he takes it away, the sensation of it lingers. Here we go again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They've laid breakfast for us in the lounge car. We're greeted by a shy looking servant girl who gestures us toward a table piled with pastries and fruits, eggs in several forms and trays of meat. Though there's only two of us, there's enough to feed three or four families. Despite the new leadership somethings never change.

I pull out the same chair I've used several times before while on my way to the Capitol. Before I'm even seated comfortably, the steward has filled our coffee cups and is pouring us tall glasses of juice. I pick at a pastry and let the cream inside spill on to the plate. "It's been over a year since the war ended. The Capitol eats like this, and Twelve is still trading on the wild game I bring in."

"Paylor can't do everything," Haymitch says with a mouth full of egg. He's three bites in before I even pick up my fork. "There's no one in the districts cracking the whip to keep citizens working at top speed. They're not producing enough for all of Panem anymore. No solid distribution system. I'm surprised the Capitol has this much to begin with."

"Yeah. Poor Capitol."

"I don't see you with an empty plate," he says, nodding over to my food.

"I'm not stupid. We're doing better than before in Twelve, but we're still not fed properly. Someone puts food in front of me, I'm going to eat it. I'm not sorry. I'd happily share this with everyone back home," I swear, gesturing to the lavish table.

"If you can get Unification to catch on, you won't have to. Unification, in theory, would get trade going between the districts. Food would be as available back home as it is here."

"In theory?"

"Well, people would have choices. People in Eleven might not want to grow crops."

"But the districts need food."

"The districts need coal, too. Do you want Rory and Vick working in the mines?"

SIlently I shake my head no.

"Rue's mother probably doesn't want her four other kids up in the trees either."

"Five."

"Exactly. So."

"Okay. So how do I convince people to keep working?"

"You don't, sweetheart." He kind of laughs through his mouthful of food. He has the decency to finish his bite then wipes his lips. "You need to convince them they're needed. Why did you hunt? Because if you didn't, your mother and sister would have starved, Gale's family would have starved. If everyone had enough to eat, what's the point of hunting except for sport? The enjoyment of it. The want to do it. It's the same way with work. It's fine to do something out of necessity. But to feel fulfilled? That's motivation."

It's quiet except for the swishing of the train. "So," I say at length, "I have to convince people that not only do they have to keep working because it's necessary, but that it's… Good for them?"

"You have to convince them that it will make them happy."

"I can't think of one man, young or old, in the Seam who would buy that."

"To put yourself at risk for someone else's benefit and find fulfillment in that? No one back home can understand that?"

"Okay," I agree.

"People can love and be miserable at the same time, sweetheart. It's more common than you think."

As I waddle down the corridor to my room, I think about how I should feel guilty about how much I've eaten, but I don't. For the first time in a while I feel properly full, like I might make it several hours without getting a headache from malnutrition. I fought a damn war to change things, and yet most of the people I know are still going to be hungry every night.

It's funny; we won this war to take the Capitol out of power, and now the districts are having to deal with the disorganization of no one being in charge. Haymitch is right. Paylor is doing the best she can, but when it all comes down to it, there's so much to do. Even though there are broadcasts that reach across Panem, news still travels slowly to Twelve. On our phone call yesterday, Plutarch filled me in on some details I wasn't aware of.

After a brief hiatus once the Rebellion was over, Capitol trains came to deliver food and supplies like before, but now there were extra bags and bushels of things. Unfortunately it was still barely enough. Worse, we realized quickly that we weren't being sent extra; we were being sent the exact same as before. We just had more because there were less of us. This led us to believe something I've only recently confirmed through Plutarch's phone call yesterday: the Capitol, while under new rule, hadn't caught up with its districts. It's been like this across Panem. Paylor's new regime has been carrying out a lot of "business as usual" because it's been too hard to do much more. This means the other districts who didn't have many casualties are still getting the same supplies as they've always been, or less.

So in order to figure out what Panem really looked like they started a census. You can imagine how well Capitol officials showing up after a war went over. After a few weeks, counting had to be done by the districts themselves. The results aren't in yet, but I hope it makes a difference. I don't know if we're the worst off of all the districts, but it can't possibly hurt in Twelve.

There aren't as many Peacekeepers anymore, and even where there are Peacekeepers, they aren't forcing people to work like Snow's government did. They mostly keep Panem from spiraling into the mire of a lawless land.

Plutarch says that industry all over Panem is at a standstill in most places, yet some areas remain functioning at near pre-war capacity. He says this is unlikely to last. There is no thread holding us together anymore. Crops are being grown in one area by people who increasingly think they shouldn't have to export what they consider their food to other districts. I can't say I blame them. Sure, we need food here in Twelve, but why should we force other people to work for our survival? And if we can't force the food to be distributed, how likely are we to convince the other districts to keep making technology and fabric and building materials?

To that point, coal production is at a full stop since Twelve got destroyed, and no one is jumping at the idea of going back down into mines that might collapse at any given moment thanks to the Capitol's bombs. I can't say I feel like we owe anyone coal just because we used to supply it before. From what I've heard that's the way other districts feel. They'd rather make their own way, surviving off their own resources. But, as Plutarch pointed out, what do people who have planted and harvested grain for generations know about textiles? What do people who make computers and hovercrafts know of lumber? The system, as it stands, is more fragile than it ever was before the rebellion. This, he says, is why we need Unification. But what I need to know is how do you make others see that?

I arrive at my room, the same one I had on the last two trips. Inside it looks exactly the same, sliver and blue hangings, a silver and gold bed, thick grey carpeting. It's not huge but it's spacious for a train. I drop my bag in a chair by the door and go to sit on the window seat.

The landscape of Panem flashes past me. We're well out of Twelve already and passing through Six. The majority of their building takes place in the north east corner of their district, and the rest of the area is used as testing for land and air vehicles. Out in the distance I can see a hovercraft air strip being used. At least Six is working. I try to think on what Haymitch has said. How can we convince people to want to work for others when, for so long, we've all been literally pitted against each other? For so long "those other districts" have been our enemies, the killers of our children. Now we're supposed to care about one another.

We don't even know each other.

It's a few hours later when I wake up to knocking on my door. I don't remember making it to my bed, but I'm sprawled out diagonally across it. Pondering Panem took a lot out of me, and that heavy food didn't help. Groggily I stumble against the movement of the train to answer.

Haymitch is standing there with a glass of something strong and a lazy smile. "Sorry to wake you, princess. But I was bored."

I feel like my head is swimming in gravy. I wave him inside as I rub my face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep. I didn't sleep well last night." It's a useless throwaway thing to say. Neither one of us ever sleeps well to begin with.

Haymitch takes the liberty of sitting on my bed. "Your room is nicer than mine," he says looking around. "Probably because you won a war."

"It's the same room I've always had. It's for tributes. You can tell. The windows don't open and there's nothing to hang yourself from." I point up towards the recessed lighting.

"Something tells me you've thought this out."

"Once or twice." I go back to my window seat and stretch out.

"So, I talked to Peeta," he says casually. I snap around to look at him. "Yooou…. kinda lied, sweetheart." He toasts me with his glass before throwing back a deep swig.

"I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you everything."

"This isn't the Games. You don't have to play defence with me. Be straight with me, huh? I think I've earned that."

"What do you want me to say?"

"For starters, you could tell me why you talked him out of coming."

"That's not what happened," I say spiritlessly. "I asked him not to come. I told him, actually. They wanted him. They wanted both of us, but they really needed him. But he hates it there, more than I do. He's trying to get better, Haymitch. He can't go there and not get worse."

Haymitch narrows his eyes at me. "You agreed to come so he wouldn't have to."

"Yes."

"Then why did you ask me if you were doing the right thing if you were going to come anyway?"

"Because I didn't know anything about Unification. I still don't. It's one thing to go in his place, but once I get there I still have to do what they ask me to do."

Haymitch shakes his head and takes a long drink. "I'll say this kid. Your life is never boring, is it?"

"I wasn't trying to make it interesting," I assure.

"That was a kindness you did him."

"It was horrible of them to ask."

"What does it tell you that they dared to ask him and settled on you?"

"That they're desperate," I laugh. I'm not even trying to hide the cynicism anymore. We are quiet for a while. When I speak, I know that I've been holding on to these words for a while now. "I don't think I did the right thing."

Haymitch looks a little sorry for me, but I've learned that his sympathy is usually also backed with frustration for having to constantly reassure me in times like this. Although right now, whether it be the liquor or the heaviness of the matter, he does look truly sincere.

"Remember when I said you could love and be miserable at the same time? That's sacrifice. You know how to do that. You did it for your mother, you did it for your sister, you did it for Peeta, and you did it for Panem. Your body's been shredded and burned and scarred for it. Your dreams are nightmares for it. And you haven't had one day since your father died in the Capitol's mines where you could say you were happy. But you got up this morning and you got on a train because something inside of you said it was worth doing. You asked me if it was the right thing to do. And I'm on this train with you because I think it is. I'm with the Mocking Jay."

We sit around for another half hour making small talk that leads into dead ends. I think Haymitch notices I'm getting antsy because he finally suggests I get back into step with current events before arriving in the heart of the Capitol. Considering the most I've heard of goings on has been from Plutarch yesterday, I agree.

There are no televisions in the sleeping areas, only in the lounge car. So we go find one and settle ourselves in front of it. Unlike the televisions in our homes, which were controlled solely by the Capitol, this one can be turned on and off by the user, and there is a choice of channels. There's nothing I'd ever care to watch, though. Three shows on fashion and technology, and two more each on food and music. Then there's a whole station devoted just to pets. What the hell do people in the Capitol do with their day, I wonder. Maybe that's the problem. I have no idea.

But there is a current events channel that isn't devoted to fashion and music trends. We occasionally got this channel a few times a year when there were weather issues that cause delivery problems for food and supplies. It's one of the stations that Beetee would hack into to show Plutarch's propos during the rebellion. It looks pretty much the same as it used to before the war, but there's a definite change in the tone of the news being reported. Instead of the general cheeriness with which stories were delivered, now the reporters seem much more serious and businesslike.

"I wonder if people in the Capitol are bored to tears over this," I say with a smirk.

Haymitch looks back at me, just as snarky. "How likely do you think it is that most of the gentry bother to watch this station?"

"That's probably true, sadly."

The next program starts with some trumpety sounding music. No more Panem anthem, I notice. And the hostess looks very different than she did a few years ago. I remember a purple haired woman with cat's eyes and wispy whiskers implanted in her cheeks. Now the same woman looks almost normal with just a few lavender steaks in her bangs and some gold glitter eyeshadow. But her Capitol accent is just the same as always.

"Good afternoon, Panem. Welcome to your news at noon." Right away I hear the change. It used to be something like "Here's what's happening in the Capitol today!" Much less of this addressing the nation as one, or reporting on "our" news.

"The Department of Distribution has released the results of the census which started at the beginning of last fall. All thirteen districts and the Capitol were included in the two month long undertaking. They have released this picture to show their findings."

A black and white map of Panem with the districts highlighted with large block numbers appears. These district numerals change into higher numbers. I'm surprised at a few of them, not so surprised at others. Twelve has fewer people in it than Thirteen, which Haymitch and I knew, but I bet there will be a lot of people surprised to see that. Larger areas like Ten and Eleven have massive amounts of people in them, but I think it's interesting that there are so few people in Three and Five, at least in comparison to the other districts.

"There will be more information on what these results mean for Panem in our evening special 'The Changing Face of Panem' which will air at six in the evening in all districts."

The camera switches to a young man who looks a little like Peeta but with plasticy red hair. His accent is twice as thick as the woman's, but he's very serious, almost dramatic.

"Now that the census is complete, roads which lead from one district to another, also known as interdistrict trade routes, are being opened for the first time since before the Dark Days.

Haymitch's eyebrows raise. "Can you imagine? There are people older than me who have never seen the dirt outside their district. And now these roads are being opened up."

I think Haymitch is getting dreamy with a sentimentality I didn't know he had. Or maybe it's whatever he's drinking. "So?" I say. "There's nothing in those other districts for them. People can't just pick up their family and move."

"Not today. But maybe one day. One day a man in Eleven might own his own farm," Haymitch explains. "A woman in 7 might start her own lumber company. More importantly someone from Twelve might want to go into farming, or someone in Two might want to fish. We're not slaves to our designations anymore."

The train lurches around a corner, and I hear myself say, "We're not designations anymore."

I come out of the darkness into the flickering light of the television. Haymitch is passed out next to me, arms sprawled open across the back of the couch, his empty glass in his lap. I've managed to curl up into a ball on the opposite end of the sofa. As I stretch, my back protests and my neck cracks. My head is full of cotton. It's funny how I can never sleep back home, but for some reason I can keep passing out on this train bound for the Capitol.

I have no idea how late it is, but the dark outside has turned the windows to mirrors. I rub my face, feeling vulnerable for passing out yet again. I look around for a clock, but there is none. There's a tray sitting on the coffee table in front of us though. I guess the steward took pity on us and let us sleep through dinner. I pour a large glass of water and drink it down. I feel like a potted plant that's been sitting bone dry and forgotten on the back porch.

The sound on the television has been lowered, probably by the steward, but it's still on the same news channel as before. But it doesn't look like the boring census report from this afternoon. This looks like it's live, and it looks like it's violent.

I look around for the control pad to turn up the sound. A different reporter's voice grows louder as I press the volume button.

" - - nearly fifty dead in what has been the largest uprising since the war on the Capitol ended seven months ago. Reports coming in from Peacekeepers have confirmed that when this rally began, it started out peaceful. But that a second group, a larger group arrived and joined in on the march to the Hall of Justice. Within about a half of an hour, homemade firebombs were being thrown at the Justice building, and there was rioting as the first group that planned the rally tried to disperse. But violence ensued when the second group began to open fire with rifles and guns hidden under their clothing. It's unclear where so many civilians came to possess so many firearms. But Peacekeepers also say that many of the violent second group had more than one weapon on them. This second group is made up of men, women, and older children who, if our information is correct, arrived from the northern regions of District 9 after walking for several days to attend this rally."

I can't even begin to process what I'm seeing. The only thing that I've seen worse is the blood baths that began every Hunger Games. There are overhead shots from news hovercrafts flying over the town square. I've been there, I think, standing right there on those steps, telling those people I was sorry their children died while I held Peeta's hand.

Human beings are trampling other human beings. Civilians are fighting Peacekeepers and winning because in Paylor's Panem, Peacekeepers aren't killers. It's nighttime, but the hovercraft lights shining down on the riots are bright, and there are bright red smears of blood on the ground.

But it's the shot from the ground that makes my stomach twist. They must have used an automated camera to get this shot because if a person had been standing where this scene was taking place, he would have been mauled to death. She can't be more than thirteen, this girl in the lead of a throng of rioters. She's screaming something unintelligible because it's so loud on the ground there. But her rage is unmistakable. Even though she is a child there is hatred on her face, an insane gleam in her eye, an intensity that I can feel even here and now, hundreds of miles away.

The video feed jams and she is frozen on the screen for a few seconds before starting up again. But in the brief moments in between, I catch a glimpse of something that makes my feet fall out from underneath me. On her chest sits a mockingjay pin, illuminated by the spotlight of the camera.

A large banner, ten people long, unfurls in front of the marchers. "We are coming for you Capitol!" is scrawled in black letters three feet tall. The young girl's primal screams chase me from the room.

The train hall is a blur as I bolt through it towards the whistlestop at the end.

I throw open the door at the end of the train and exhale. My breath gathers up in front of me and then is whipped away by a sudden gust of wind as the train hurtles through the darkness. The openings at my wrists and neck and ankles fill with cold air and my face stings. My eyes, full of tears, turn to ice. I want to go home. I want to go home to Twelve and live in the woods and never ever see these things again. Let someone else smarter and stronger do this. I am weak and tired and sorely ignorant of what it is people need.

Haymitch's heavy footfalls thunder behind me. He's chased me the whole length of this train. When he speaks he is out of breath.

"What are you gonna do? Jump? And go where? Do what? After you break your leg, I mean? I already had one tribute jump about nine years ago. She broke her back. The Peacekeeper who found her had to shoot her to put her out of her misery. You think you're luckier than that? Get your ass back in here, sweetheart!" he shouts over the rush of the train.

I ignore him and stare into the inky darkness, hoping that wherever I land will be full of grass and not rocks. Where are we, District Ten? Livestock? I could find a ranch. I could find food. I could find water. I could make it. I could steal a horse and ride back to Twelve. I survived two Hunger Games. I could do this.

Jump!

"Katniss," he says plainly.

His warm hand closes over my own. Pulls me back inside. Closes the door and locks it.

I think I phase out, like I used to back in Thirteen. I find myself being guided into the dining car but I don't remember being walked through the rest of the train.

"Sit down. You need a drink."

Everything tells me not to accept, to say goodnight and promise go to bed. Everything except my mouth. "Okay." When I hear my voice, it sounds hoarse, and I realize I've been crying this whole time. 


End file.
